


Invisibility

by GrumpyBumblebee



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Caboose is amazing and /knows/, Fluff and Angst, Grif is dealing with a crush and a load of guilt, Invisibility, M/M, Simmons is shook but will get over it, Tucker asks too many questions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyBumblebee/pseuds/GrumpyBumblebee
Summary: What do you do when you've got the feeling that you're being watched? Do you shrug it off as friends pulling a prank? Do you tell yourself that it's ghosts?But what do you do when it turns out that it's your friend - who accidentally turned himself invisible -?Simmons doesn't know.Alternatively named: "Grif please get the fuck away from alien technology I'm begging you"





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons looked around him nervously and shifted on his chair. He got the feeling he was being watched. “Uhh, Grif? Are you trying to prank me… again?”

Simmons looked around him nervously and shifted on his chair. He had the feeling he was being watched. “Uhh, Grif? Are you trying to prank me… again?” Simmons sat at the table in the living area of Red Base and he knew that Donut and Sarge were talking outside. "Donut is probably convincing Sarge to change the Warthog's colour palette to pastel..." The maroon soldier pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed: "...again."

He leaned back in the chair and peered into the hallway. Grif's door was closed and he could hear faint music, so Simmons was sure the orange soldier was in there, napping, eating or doing any of the other disgusting things he did. Simmons turned to his laptop and moved his fingers over the keyboard, not typing anything. He really wanted to finish the week report, but couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. The maroon soldier drummed his fingers on the palm rest and he spoke up  _once more_. "Hello? Sarge? Donut, is that you?" And after a brief pause: "Anybody?" He knew that there was still armour out there with which people could do That Ghost Thing™ (he meant cloaking).

When nobody replied, Simmons got back to work, a faint blush colouring his freckled cheeks. "You’re so stupid," he mumbled. "Of course nobody would reply if they were to sneak on you. And nobody's doing that. There’s nothing to be worried about." Simmons pushed all other thoughts aside and typed away; words were formed with ease and after 10 minutes of work, he was done with the report. He gently pushed his laptop away from him and stretched. Simmons’ joints popped and he sighed in relief. He relaxed in his chair and pulled his hood up. “Sarge probably won’t mind if I… nap for a bit,” Simmons murmured, before dozing off.

Simmons woke up to the feeling of big, strong arms around him. He opened his eyes slowly, but decided to close them again; the ceiling lights were  _way_  too bright. His brain took its time to boot up, so it took Simmons a while to realize that it was Grif that was holding him. He also realized that he was being taken to another place. Probably to his own room, so that he could sleep some more. Simmons didn’t want to sleep any longer though. What if he had already been sleeping for more than two hours? That would  _so_  ruin his rhythm. He sighed, “Grif…” Grif was so warm and comfortable. “Don’t… want to… sleep…”

.:':. .:':. .:':.

Simmons startled awake and hit his head against someone else’s in the process. “Ouch, Simmons! You don’t have to rub your head against mine so aggressively!” Simmons’ eyes managed to focus on the person in front of him. “Donut?” He looked around and gently touched the sore place on his forehead. “How long have I been here?” The maroon soldier couldn’t remember going to bed. Donut smiled. “Oh my~ You’re such a deep sleeper! Sarge told me to go get you, but I just couldn’t get you up!” An expression of horror appeared on Simmons’ face, but Donut continued happily: “It’s been three hours since then and even though I  _really_  didn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep, Sarge needs you to come~” The  _pink_  soldier ran his hand through his dyed hair and climbed off the bed- apparently, he had been straddling Simmons’ hips. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

It turned out that Sarge had only needed Simmons to confirm his good leadership. Simmons had sighed. “But, Sarge! I’ve been sleeping all day! I don’t think I’m enough of a good soldier to do that…” His voice was pitched higher than normal, an indicator of the maroon soldier’s stress. But that stress turned out to be for nothing; Sarge just laughed in response and told Simmons: “That’s fine, you’re a loyal soldier and actually useful. Not like that damn Grif!” Simmons had straightened his posture and replied with steady voice. “Indeed, Sir! Speaking of Grif, where is that idiot?”

Simmons thought of that conversation as he ate his dinner. Grif’s food was there, untouched. ‘Which is weird,’ he thought. Donut and Sarge were talking about why opening a hair salon in the canyon was a good idea (or why it wasn’t). The maroon soldier felt a bit left out, but he didn’t feel the need to actively participate in the conversation either. It was weird that Grif still hadn’t showed up. It wasn’t weird for the orange soldier to not show up all day, but he ALWAYS showed up for dinner. Simmons finished his own food and quietly asked for permission to leave the room. “Permission granted. But son, you don’t need to ask for permission to leave the dinner table! Only for leaving battlegrounds,” Sarge added. Donut… giggled? Simmons nodded, took Grif’s plate and left the room.

Simmons hesitated in front of Grif’s room. Why was he hesitating? Grif probably had just eaten his way into a food-coma, nothing bad had happened to him. “Because to make something bad happen, you’d have to do something first,” the maroon soldier scoffed. Simmons knocked on the door. “Grif? You there?” The groan that came from someplace behind the door gave him the feeling that he’d woken the orange soldier from a nap. Which was not surprising, but Simmons shuffled his feet and panicked a bit. Like, he wanted to open the door, but he did  _not_  feel the need to see his companion naked. Again. So Simmons knocked on the door again, louder this time. “Grif! You weren’t there during dinner. You okay?” He heard Grif cursing in Hawaiian before he answered from the other side of the door: “I’m okay! Just- I ate earlier! I also got this terrible fever so it’d be best if you didn’t come in. Uh- Sarge wouldn’t want you being sick and useless!”

Simmons left after that, put Grif’s plate in the sink (after scraping the cold food off) and headed into his room. He didn’t recap the ‘conversation’ he had with Grif; he was finally able to relax and thinking about the orange soldier wouldn’t be relaxing at  _all_. Simmons was mentally exhausted, but he also felt too energized to sleep. This is what he meant by naps ruining his rhythm! The maroon soldier walked up to his desk instead of his bed and sat down. He grabbed his favourite book,  _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,_  and re-read it for the umpteenth time. Simmons didn’t feel like reading it from the beginning, so he dove right into the part where Captain Nemo shows up and takes the main characters into Nautilus.

Simmons read until the soft beep of his smartwatch broke his focus. He looked at the dimmed screen; it was 2AM already. Simmons rubbed his temples and pressed his fingers into his trapezius. “I really need to watch my posture when I’m reading,” he mumbled to no-one in general. The maroon soldier carefully put the worn book in a leather sleeve (it would protect the book against dirt and food) and took his hoodie and jeans off. Simmons couldn’t understand how some of the other soldiers could sleep naked, but he  _did_  like to sleep in less clothes than you’d usually see him in. His boxers were the same colour of his armour and he wore a black tank top. As he climbed into his bed, Simmons wondered why he thought about what he was wearing; it wasn’t important.

.:':. .:':. .:':.

The strong smell of freshly baked pancakes made its way into Simmons’ room. The maroon soldier woke up groggy, still tired somehow. Simmons stretched and made a mental list of things he was thankful for. It helped him be a little more… positive and keep him from being, y’know, depressed and scared 24/7. He got out of bed and put on jogging pants and a big sweater. It would be cold in the living (and dining) room and Simmons really didn’t want to get near-frostbite because of his robotic arm again.

The Dutch-Irish man stumbled into the living room. “Mornin’ guys,” he said. Donut replied with a cheery ‘and a very good morning to you too, Simmons!’ and Sarge grunted. Their leader never talked much in the mornings, but Donut always seemed to have a great time in the morning (but when was the Latino  _not_  having a good time). Donut was indeed baking pancakes; a small pile was already finished, but he was hardly done. The pink soldier usually made like 50 pancakes. Grif ate like a horse and sometimes Caboose came over to take a dozen of pancakes to their base too. Simmons saw the pile of dishes in the sink, walked up to the counter to stand next to Donut and got to work.

Simmons was busy cleaning an  _exceptionally nasty_  plate when he suddenly felt someone get behind him and slide their arms around his waist. This made Simmons drop the plate (it fell into the dishwater, luckily) and let out a surprised yelp. He tried to turn around but the person behind him leaned heavily against Simmons’ shoulders. The maroon soldier gave up -he assumed that it was Grif anyways- and whined: “Grif! Can you not.” There came no snort and no answer. Simmons froze as the silence stretched. He felt Donut’s and Sarge’s eyes on him, but nobody said anything. After what felt like an eternity, Donut cleared his throat and spoke up: “Uh, Simmons? Grif is still asleep. In his room.”

Oh.

Simmons noticed that the pressure behind him had reduced itself to just arms around his waist and he carefully turned his back to the counter. He was looking at… Sarge? Sitting at the table? There was clearly something between him and his CO, but he couldn’t see it. He felt it, though. Literally. The person was right in front of him! Simmons was very uncomfortable, but quickly turned back around and continued doing the dishes. And as expected, the person leaned against him again. Whatever was happening, it gave him goose bumps. He fully remembered Locus and the Meta using cloaking power-ups.

The maroon soldier kept himself busy and didn’t do anything about the physical contact. Simmons wouldn’t risk it being an alien, a bad guy (or girl) or worse: someone from their original teams. Sarge and Donut were right there and Simmons considered Donut as the person who was most likely to do that. He made a mental list of the people he knew and put it in the order of ‘Most Likely To Pull This Shit’ to ‘Least Likely To Pull This Shit’.

Number  **one** , the person who’d definitely sneak up on people and cop a feel when invisible was… Donut? Simmons hesitated. The pink soldier  _did_  say that consent was the most important thing, like, ever. And thus, the maroon soldier changed his mind. Tucker was number one.  ~~Also, suck it blue! Hah!~~

Number  **two**  would be Grif. The orange soldier was that kind of human being who liked to scare the shit out of people for fun. Only if he didn’t have to do much for it, though. But that was the catch! There’s no way Grif would’ve looked for a cloaking device  _just_  to screw with his friends. And Simmons was fairly sure Grif wouldn’t force his fat ass into Simmons’ personal bubble.

Number  **three**  would be Donut and after him came Agent Wash (NO pun intended, for fuck’s sake). The pink soldier did like consent but was also easily convinced to do stuff like this. It had turned out that Agent Washington had the mentality of a teenager. Not like Tucker, but in a more… childish way. Simmons didn’t want to throw it out there, but- ‘ _Throw it out_ ** _where_** _?! This is all happening inside your own head, idiot!’_

Simmons respected Wash, but it was nothing but the truth that the ex-Freelancer was the worst when it came to pranks. He pulled the pranks not unlike those of a 15-year-old; he put whipped cream on sleeping Grif’s hand -Grif didn’t really mind because ‘hello? Whipped cream!’ But Wash also drew on their armour quite often, sometimes writing stuff like “kick my ass!” on people’s backs. Simmons had to admit, though, it WAS funny when Agent Washington had written “fight me” on the back of Tucker’s armour. It took the teal soldier _two fucking days_ to figure out why Sarge and Carolina kept beating him up randomly.

The others were all less likely to do this, or well- Simmons would’ve known who it was. Sarge, for example, would use his invisibility to mess with the blues. Doc/O’Malley wouldn’t be able to decide on a plan with their constant bickering. Carolina would’ve kicked their asses immediately, not be weird like… this. And Caboose? Simmons didn’t doubt that the blue soldier would stumble upon cloaking devices, but he’d be loud and tell everyone that he was playing hide and seek with them.

The maroon soldier was done with the dishes and when he looked to the right he noticed that Donut had finished baking too. He reached out for the towel and dried his hands. It was only after sitting down at the table that Simmons noticed the absence of the invisible person. He wasn’t sure how to react, though. Because if the person wasn’t here with him, _where_ were they?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a pancake being dropped on his plate. “Simmons…” Donut sat across of him and tried to make eye contact. “You have to eat…” Worried Donut was too kind and too careful and Simmons couldn’t stand the fact that it was directed at him. He looked away and saw that Sarge was looking at him too, one bushy eyebrow raised at him. That did it. “I’m FINE, guys!” Simmons snapped; it was like the guys were pitying him and it made him uncomfortable. It didn’t feel right to leave it like this, though, so he added: “Sorry… I hardly slept last night and I’ve got a migraine.” It was only slightly true, but the others didn’t have to know that.

The rest of breakfast was hell. Sarge didn’t stop trying to get Simmons to explain what happened to him before, but the maroon soldier kept his silence. The pink soldier was ‘casually’ reading some articles on his data pad. Simmons squinted to read the mirrored letters on the see-through screen, because this looked like an article and Donut never read anything but feel-good novels... It was about mental health. _Oh, wow, what the fuck?!_ Simmons ignored his crumbling pride and continued eating. No matter how bad things would get, Donut’s pancakes were still brilliant; the maroon soldier would **never** skip them. Ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'Mystery Guest' will be revealed! Spoiler alert: it's Grif.
> 
> Local soldiers _hate_ him! Click here to find out why!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more story-building in this chapter. I've been busy working (as I now have two jobs in the hopes of affording a two-week trip to Japan) and been on vacation for a week without my laptop (๑◕︵◕๑)

Simmons was strolling through the halls of the base when he heard some noises come from the area which the Reds considered as their living room and kitchen. The building had two rooms like this (so, one for the Reds and one for the Blues) and an actual mess hall, but Caboose and Tucker had turned that room into a Nerf-gun battle ground, so nobody dared to go in there without at least three Nerf guns and a couple of hundred of those rubber bullets. Even when nobody else was in that room. Anyways. In the meantime, Simmons had stopped moving and was holding his breath to listen. It sounded like someone -or something- was rummaging through the cabinets! Simmons let out a shaky sigh and quietly made his way towards the noise.

The maroon soldier considered the possibility of space rats and he cursed himself for leaving his armour back in his room. He was only wearing the Kevlar undersuit and Simmons _knew_ that the strong material would offer little protection from the space rats. He had considered the lack of protection impossible because it wasn’t easy to penetrate the polymer with run-of-the-mill bullets, so space rats had formed no threat in Simmons’ head. Just- listen. When there’s ‘space’ in the name, you will not go with logic. You shouldn’t. It’s for your own safety.

His footsteps were quiet. The entrance to the room was only a couple more steps away and Simmons knew he’d be able to lay his eyes on the ‘kitchen thief’. Until... Until he tripped over his own feet. “Shit!” He managed to catch himself right before his face hit the floor. Simmons cursed softly and scrambled to get himself on his feet. He sprinted into the room and was confronted with- “What the hell?!” The room was empty and yet it looked like a tornado had passed through the kitchen area. Pans and bowls were spread over the counter and various measuring cups were set out. The maroon soldier bit his lip and looked around the hall again, tapping his foot quickly. This was Grif’s work. Space rats did not hide or run away from a fight. Something was off, though. It didn’t smell like food and the coffee machine was still turned off. Grif would _never_ leave without having had food OR coffee. “So… why did he run like that,” Simmons wondered aloud.

After having cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, Simmons decided to check the armoury. Someone had to keep check of their stocks, right? It had nothing to do with the ongoing silence, both inside Simmons’ head as outside of it, which made him very uncomfortable, especially if he was doing nothing ‘useful’. And it had _absolutely nothing_ to do with the fact that Simmons kept on trying to start a conversation with Grif, just to realise that the orange soldier wasn’t even there with him! He didn’t feel alone, he told himself. But he could hardly convince himself of it. And, Wednesday was armoury day anyway! (Which… is a lie, Tuesday was armoury day.)

Simmons reached the armoury after a short walk through the painfully empty corridors. But when the maroon soldier pulled the heavy sliding door to the side, he heard something that sounded like footsteps nearing. _Grif’s._ Simmons turned around quickly, but was faced with… nothing. Again. All of a sudden, the maroon soldier didn’t feel very alone, but whatever it was following him around, it made him very uncomfortable. (Simmons didn’t really believe in ghosts, but he would be lying if he said he still doubted their existence)

“Uh- Whoever’s pulling this shit, it’s NOT funny. At all.” Simmons reached behind him and his hand hovered at the doorknob, ready to shut himself inside the armoury as soon as something terrible would appear. ‘Of course it won’t happen, it’s not logical! But- just in case,’ he thought to himself. It stayed quiet, though. Nobody manifested from thin air or jumped from around the corner. It was dead silent in the corridors.

“Guys…? I’m just going to- you know- be in the armoury for a while. And lock the door from the inside. You know, just to,” Simmons cleared his throat before continuing: “…keep you fuckers from harassing me in there.”

He scanned the empty hall once more before stepping into the armoury and pulled the heavy door closed. After having locked the door with the shoot bolts, Simmons slid down to the floor with a loud sigh. Most of their doors had electronic locks; you could unlock the door with your handprint (and some doors could only be unlocked with a Code™. This was to keep certain people ~~Caboose~~ from accessing those rooms). However, the whole base had its own AI, whom they’d named Sheila ~~thanks to Caboose~~ , and Sheila wiped their digital ass with the rules and with who really had access to certain rooms. Sheila also liked Caboose a lot (seriously, what the fuck is that guy’s deal with robots and AI???) and thus, Caboose had access to all rooms and could go wherever he liked.

Code™: these are the codes that shall NOT be given to Caboose, Sarge, Tucker and Wash, because they CAN AND WILL make poor use of these codes. Seriously, guys, don’t make me put you on this list because I WILL kick your ass so hard you’ll have trouble walking straight. And _no_ , that is NOT an entendre, Donut. I can already hear you giggle. Sincerely yours, Carolina.  
P.S. I mean it, guys, I will kick your ass.

Anyway, Simmons was totally getting side-tracked there. This was the only room with an old-fashioned lock, thanks to Sarge. In other words, this was the only room nobody could get into. At least not without a rocket launcher, a couple grenades or the Grif Shot. The latter was with its owner and since Grif was waaaaay too fucking lazy to leave his room, Simmons doubted that anyone was going to shoot down the door to get to him. This was also because all the rocket launchers and grenades were right in this room. A grin appeared on his face and he climbed onto his feet. Simmons raised his arms and stretched; a breathy moan left his mouth when his vertebrae popped back into place.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road then,” the maroon soldier mumbled.

As he looked around the small and poorly lit room, Simmons decided to count the grenades first. The grenades were on the top shelf and he had to stand on his toes to reach the heavy box. The metal felt cold to his bare hands and he accidentally inhaled the dust on the top lid of the box when he lowered it to the floor. A coughing fit overpowered the maroon soldier and he had to lean against the nearest wall to stay on his feet. Good god, it didn’t make sense why they stored all the weapons in a room that looked like it was supposed to store food. _It probably is,_ he thought.

Doyle’s army had these high-class armouries, with glowing display tables and bright, white ceiling lights. Simmons was especially interested in the custom-made ventilation system the troops had to prevent dust from gathering on the weaponry. Here, the fluorescent lamps hurt his eyes and somehow still made it hard to read the labels on the dusty aluminium boxes. (For fuck’s sake, they had a boss-ass base with rooms that were _built_ to store weapons and ammo! What were the weapons doing here?!) ‘…shit. I’m getting side-tracked again.’

Simmons shot one look at the dust and greasy smudges on the floor and groaned. “Like hell I’m sitting in that shit.” He let out an annoyed huff and walked over to the other side of the room to pull another box off a shelf. This one was empty and looked relatively new. He placed the empty box in front of the one containing grenades and sat down on it. The metal creaked a bit under the weight of half a cyborg sitting on top of it, but it didn’t give. Simmons bit his lip before taking the grenades out one-by-one. He decided to count them twice; first by taking them out of the box and then by putting them back into the box. The results would be more secure that way.

“I wonder what the time is, ‘cause I’ve been busy for a while now,” The maroon soldier wondered aloud. It seemed like there was an infinite number of grenades and he felt like five hours had passed already. He looked at his watch. It hadn’t even been 10 minutes. Simmons threw his hands in his hair and whined. “Fuck me! This is gonna take forever!”

“Alright, whatever you say.”

 _WHAT._ Simmons jumped up onto his feet and turned around, but nobody was there. But he heard Grif, he was _sure_ of it.

“Grif?! Goddammit- Grif, this isn’t funny anymore! Is there a camera in here or something?” The atmosphere in the room changed and Simmons found it hard to keep calm as a mixture of anxiousness and anger poured into his brain. He didn’t see any obvious devices- he couldn’t spot any devices at all. There was _nothing_ out of place in this room. Simmons looked around the room hastily, almost making himself even more lightheaded. He started to back up towards the wall when he suddenly felt something at his back.

A very uncool yelp slipped past Simmons’ lips and he was seeing black spots. He was trapped and freaking out. The arms were back again and now they were trapping him in a closed room. Simmons struggled to break free, kicking his feet and pulling at the arms around his waist. However, the arms (which felt more like _chains_ at the moment) did not give and kept him right where he was. The maroon soldier wanted to get out, and he wanted to get out NOW.

“Fucking- Let! Go! Of! Me!” Simmons tried to sound intimidating, but he was already out of breath. “I’ll fuck you up,” he gasped. People always say that when you’re in a threatening situation, the adrenaline makes it feel like time has slowed down. The maroon soldier couldn’t agree to that, but the adrenaline _did_ make him think 10 times faster. It wasn’t easy to point out whatever was out of place, but he did find one thing:

His ‘attacker’ wasn’t hurting him; their arms weren’t holding him painfully hard. They were just keeping him where he was. This didn’t comfort Simmons, though. Not in the least. He was still struggling to get out, but less intensely; he didn’t want to faint. He was getting black edges in his vision and everything was getting darker and darker. This was mainly because he was breathing so irregularly.

“Ugh-“ Simmons’ brain was overworking; he didn’t know what to do: _fight or flight?_

Actually, the choice was pretty easy to make. He couldn’t flee from his attacker, so the only logical thing to do was fight. But Simmons didn’t want to engage in hand-to-hand combat with the person violating his personal space, because the person… ‘feels... pretty fucking strong. That sounded a little weird. Anyways- As soon as I’m free, I’m getting the hell out of here!’ Thus, Simmons elbowed the attacker with his cyborg arm.

Breaking ribs is no big deal with that move. It’s pretty bad-ass, actually.

But that wasn’t what Simmons wanted to go for. He just wanted to get the hell out of here and lock his assailant inside the storage room for later inquiring. However, that didn’t stop him from letting the hit land _hard_. The maroon soldier didn’t hear a crack, but he knew the pained groan all too well. None of that really mattered, though. What really mattered was that the pressure around his waist disappeared, meaning that… he was free! Simmons pushed himself away from his attacker and sprinted towards the heavy door, ready to pull it open and RUN, but he twisted his ankle, fell and hit the floor. Hard.

“Fuck… Simmons, why’d you have to do that,” came out of nowhere. “That hurt…”

This was Grif. This was definitely Grif talking to him. Simmons was sure that the orange soldier had somehow died of laziness and had come to haunt him as a ghost. It was either that, or he was going crazy. As he dragged himself towards the nearest wall, Grif’s voice went on, a whining tone like usual: “I was just trying to mess with you, didn’t expect you to fucking use your ‘Elbow of Death.’ I thought you were my friend, Simmons!”

Actually, the maroon soldier had to be going crazy, because there was no way Grif had died and come back as a ghost, just to mess with him. Unless- unless there was some logical story behind all of this. Crazy or not, Simmons wanted to find out what the hell was going on and replied in a cracked voice: “Dex…?”

It suddenly hit Simmons that he didn’t know where to look as he spoke, so he ended up staring at the floor. “Uh- First off… Where the hell are you.” He pulled his knees up to his chest and suppressed a pained hiss when he put pressure on his human ankle. It was probably sprained. Great. The only good thing about today was that he _might_ get an answer as to why he’s been so uncomfortable for the past two days.

“Oh- Right. Uh… Wait,” came Grif’s voice again. It sounded surprised, which only frustrated Simmons. Grif had NO right to be surprised when it was _Simmons_ whose personal space and rights had been violated! He shook his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. Now that the coast was clear (for the time being), the task at hand was to get answers. And it seemed like Invisi-Grif ( _what???_ ) was working on it, as he heard him rummage through the cabinets. The maroon soldier somehow managed to keep himself from squeaking when a loud cheer caught him off-guard. “AHA! It works!! I don’t know how long this’ll work, though, so you better lift your pretty head now, Simmons.”

Blood rushed to his cheeks at the last comment and the maroon soldier looked up. He saw the shape of a human (with Grif’s build, luckily) in a cloud of yellow… chalk? It was all up in the orange soldier’s hair and with no doubt ruining its softness for the rest of the week. The chalk stuck better on his clothing, a simple shirt and jogging pants (the latter was an assumption, because Grif hardly wore jeans).

Simmons noted one thing that seemed odd: Grif’s lack of armour. He shrugged it off. It’s Grif, so it’s probably got something to do with his laziness.

All of that aside, the chalk was for training purposes, but there was no doubt that Caboose used it to draw. It was easier to talk now that he could _see_ someone standing in the room with him. Not that he’d believe what he was seeing until someone else was seeing and hearing this too. He needed Caboose or Carolina for this. They were, strange enough, the most trustworthy people about this stuff.

“So… It’s really you? I’m not going crazy?”

Simmons didn’t know why he’d asked that, but he hoped that IF he was going crazy, Hallucination-Grif would be honest with him about it. Grif shrugged and it looked like he was rubbing his neck. Simmons couldn’t see him fully; the invisible soldier’s arms were hardly visible, but his head and chest were distinguishable. That meant that most movement went unseen by Simmons unless it was Grif’s whole body that was moving. Grif seemed to be thinking about his answer, almost like he was typing it out and deleting it over and over again. Nothing could’ve prepared the maroon soldier for the answer that finally came, though.

“Look- first of all, sorry. I shouldn’t have forced myself in your personal bubble like that. It was a dick move and that’s not supposed to be a pun!” Grif sighed and sat down on the floor, causing chalk to explode in a dust cloud of sorts.

“I mean it, Simmons. I’m sorry. There’s a thousand ways I could’ve handled it and I chose the worst one. I don’t want this to have shitty consequences, you know?”

Simmons closed his eyes. Grif was ranting and feeling shitty. He understood why the orange soldier wanted to address this now, but Simmons wasn’t even done processing everything that had happened yet. He’ll forgive Grif another day, probably by the end of this week. It’ll just take some time. So the maroon soldier sighed softly and nodded. “I know, Grif. Please just explain what happened to you…”

Now that the adrenaline had worn down, Simmons was growing tired. Damnit, he needed answers, so now was _not_ the time to get tired and dazed. The maroon soldier opened his eyes again, interest and stubbornness causing them to shimmer.

“Alright. Uh. Let’s go back to, Sunday night? That’s pretty much where it all began. I was chilling-“

“Like usual,” Simmons interrupted with an annoyed sigh. Invisi-Grif shrugged.

“So what? You know that I was born to take it easy. It’s a sin to not-chill when there’s time to chill! Anyways, I was chilling in my room when I heard strange-ass noises. Like, alien noises. And because I didn’t want any aliens ruining my chill-time, I went to go outside. The weather was good, so I didn’t bother to put on my suit. Takes too much time and energy, you know?”

Simmons opened his mouth to note that it only took Grif ‘too much time and energy’ to put on his armour, but he was met with a loud shushing noise and the invisible soldier waving his arms to stop him.

“SHH- I know what you’re gonna say and I don’t wanna hear it. Get off my back, Simmons. You wanna hear my story or not? ‘Cause I’m only gonna tell it once.” Grif got up and started to pace back and forth, a rare sight. “I went outside and found something which looked like it belonged to the ancient aliens’ culture. Like the… temples and Tucker’s sword. It was a wristband, I guess?? Anyways, my dumb ass touched it and it fucking scorched my hand! Dunno if some weird stuff happened, because the next thing I remember is getting up the morning after. Couldn’t see my freaking body anymore.”

Grif huffed and paused in his steps. It was hard to see, but he was probably sending a helpless look at Simmons. The maroon soldier could feel Grif’s stress and helplessness in the air surrounding them. He was starting to feel awkward. The orange soldier never really expressed any emotions other than annoyance, laziness and anger (when people ate his food). When he _did_ express his emotions, it came in strong waves, pulling the people around him under like a tsunami. Simmons was beginning to feel bad for his friend and had no time to suppress it as Grif continued to tell his story.

“Do you know how crazy it is to wake up and feeling like you straight-up died? You feel like SHIT and your body is somehow gone?! That’s not a good start of the day, Simmons, lemme tell you that.”

The invisible soldier sounded tired as he went on: “The bracelet is stuck on me. I don’t know what the fuck will happen to me. I don’t know if this is temporary, or if it’ll be forever. Imagine Sarge finding out if it’s forever! I’d have to be the scout for every freaking mission! Which. Is. A. Nightmare.”

Simmons didn’t need to be telepathic to hear Grif’s next thought. ‘Don’t even know if this thing won’t kill me.’ Which was a _very_ strange and worrying thought. For both men.

The maroon soldier exhaled loudly. “Grif… Help me up.” He raised his head to meet his friend’s chalk-covered one and held out his hand. Grif walked towards him and took the offered hand with a joking scoff. “Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this 5.000+ words, but figured that it'd take me like 10 years to post it if I wanted to go for that...  
> I'm not really happy with how this turned out, because seriously, how the _fuck_ do you react to finding out that your friend is invisible OR that you're just crazy? I honestly don't know and rewrote this chapter three times.  
>  I'm hyped for this story, though! And I came up for another series, but that's gotta wait till I'm done here! (♥ω♥ ) ~♪
> 
> Sorry for making all of you wait for such a long time, though! I hope this chapter meets your needs!!! (๑⑈௰⑈)◞  
> And a huge thanks for all the support after the first chapter! There's nothing I love more than reading your comments, so....  
> Let me know in the comments down below what you thought of it!  
> Lots of love, Bee


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry for the long wait... Word suddenly decided to check out on me, so I had to transfer _everything_ to G-Docs... -__-  
>  And when I had all of that sorted out, it was LIFE that decided to screw me over. I had to re-arrange some things and get my life back on track.  
> But none of that matters - I'm here now. I hope you like it! (#♡∀♡)

_ Grif walked towards him and took the offered hand with a joking scoff. “Asshole.” _

Simmons was pulled to his feet, but a pained groan escaped from his pursed lips when he put pressure on his hurt ankle. He quickly lifted his foot off the floor, looking like a flamingo while doing so. But unlike those birds, Simmons had quite a lot of trouble maintaining his balance.

He noticed that Grif hadn’t moved from his spot, which was in Simmons’ personal bubble, but he shrugged it off. It was uncomfortable, but there was a big chance that Simmons would lose his balance soon... and if he had to choose between doing a perfect faceplant or having to lean against Grif, the choice was  _ very _ easy. Still, the maroon soldier didn’t want to be a burden, so his eyes scanned the room for something,  _ anything _ , that he could use as a crutch, but his search was fruitless. The room was packed, but not with anything useful. At least, not useful for current Simmons. ‘Great,’ he thought to himself. ‘So I DO need Grif as my crutch, like I got my ass handed to me in a serious fight.’ The maroon soldier didn’t want to ask his orange pal for help. He had to, though.

“So…” Simmons began. “I, uh, wanted to thank you. For helping me up.” Blood was rushing up to his cheeks and he had spoken with a high-pitched voice. Anxiety was bubbling up beneath his pale skin, but he continued still: “I sprained my ankle. I think. It feels like it’s- anyways, I don’t think that, uh, I’ll be able to walk to my room… So! My question is - and I get it if you don’t want to do it, because it takes effort and all that, but could you-”

“Alright,” Grif interrupted. He sounded bored, which caused the maroon soldier to send a long stare his way. Grif sighed and answered Simmons’ gaze: “Look. You’re gonna ask me to help you back to your room. It’s no big deal, we’ve done it countless times before, so don’t make it weird now! This situation is weird enough as it is, and YES, you  _ were  _ making it weird! You were looking at me like I was gonna kick your dog or something.” Grif’s speech made Simmons feel like he was being scolded. He was used to Grif criticizing him, but now it was making him very uncomfortable. ‘Or,’ the maroon soldier thought grimly as he waved his arms to stay upright. ‘It’s the fact that I’m the worst at keeping my balance.’

Apparently his anxiety showed on his face, because after a short and awkward silence, the his invisible friend was speaking up again.

“Hey,” Grif’s voice was soft and gentle, a tone he rarely used. “I… I didn’t mean to sound angry. It’s just- you know I wouldn’t ever leave you hanging, right?”

Deep down, Simmons knew Grif’s words were true, but now all he could think of were the many times his friend  _ did _ leave him hanging. So, Dick Smart-ass Simmons replied with: “Except for that time I got stuck in wet cement and you were too busy going down on those mega stuffed Oreos…”

Simmons interrupted the offended gasp (followed by the stuttering start of a half-assed apology) with a laugh. “And the time I almost got eaten by Daisy, that sentient carnivorous plant Donut somehow befriended, after you told me to get close ‘for a picture’.” 

A cloud of chalk rose up into the air when Grif’s hand came down onto the maroon soldier’s shoulder. He was cracking up and tears were rolling down his cheeks as he tried to regain control. Simmons smiled at the terrible - but warm - memory. He moved his arm to Grif’s shoulder, effectively mirroring his pose. This helped the maroon soldier stay on his foot, while also being… amicable with his friend.

Speaking of, that same friend was still trying his best to stifle his laughter, while also trying to comment on Simmons’ story: “Hoo- boy! That… was such a good day, haha! It took us three- my God - hah, this will literally never not be funny… It took us three  _ hours _ to pull you from Daisy’s-” a couple of giggles slipped from his lips before he was able to continue. “Daisy’s Jaws of Death!”

It had been an… eventful day. After having escaped Daisy’s wet and slimy trap, Simmons yelled at everyone in sight (even at Carolina and  _ Sarge _ ). If they’d left him inside Daisy for any longer, the acids would’ve eaten through Simmons’ suit. Nobody took him seriously until he had turned around and showed the blind holes and discolorations caused by the harsh acids. Yeah. He really hadn’t been able to laugh about the situation then, but now he could see the amusing parts of almost being eaten by a plant.

Simmons was still holding on to Grif’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze to regain his attention. He was glad that the mood had improved, but it was still weird as hell to chill and laugh with an  _ invisible _ person.

Grif composed himself and looked at the maroon soldier. Noticed his flamingo-pose. Right. It was getting near dinner-time, which meant that soon everyone would be walking around the corridors in order to get to the mess hall. So he needed to get Simmons to his room, and he needed to do it  _ quick _ . Grif really didn’t feel like having to explain this crazy situation to the rest already. He was already dealing with his guilt over scaring his friend like he did. So he looked down at Simmons’ robotic leg once more as he was deciding on the best way to transport Simmons to his room.

“Simmons? You’re  _ so _ not gonna like this, but I gotta get you to your room in 5 minutes. Or people will see us- see you in the hallways. So- uh… the  _ most comfortable _ way would be me holding you up at your shoulder, but the  _ fastest  _ way... “ The only good thing about being invisible was that nobody could see how flustered Grif was. The second plan was a disaster. It was meant to go wrong in the best way possible; ruining his friendship with Simmons for that one thing he couldn’t have. So he decided against it.

“Never mind! Let’s just go with the first plan,” the orange soldier said quickly. He stumbled over his words, not even convincing himself of his certainty. Still, he hoped that he’d get away with it. He damned his brain to hell for always coming with dumb ideas  _ just _ stupid enough to make him consider them.

However, the day that Simmons ignored such behaviour - especially when coming from his best friend - was the day everything went to shit. So he raised his eyebrows at the chalk-covered figure next to him and his lips curled into a smirk. Often, the second plan was ‘worse’ than the first plan, but more  _ efficient _ .

“What… exactly, is the fastest way to go about this?”  If he wasn’t leaning on Grif for support, he would definitely have leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed. Simmons knew that they had to go  _ now _ or they’d be stuck in this storage room for another hour, but stubbornness kinda makes you… not care. He wanted to know what was going through Grif’s mind and he planned on finding out.

“Hell. No. That ain’t happening,” Grif said as he was waving his arms in a way that translated to ‘No, we’re not doing that and that’s final’.

The maroon soldier just shrugged. “We really need to get to my room fast, though… Five minute’s down to,” he feigned hesitation and looked at the slim black watch on his right wrist. “Three and a half minute, now. So unless your plan was to teleport back to my room, I say you hurry and get your actual plan out.”

The invisible soldier seemed to be considering his friend’s words, but it was taking too long for Simmons’ liking. Even though he had stubbornly thought to himself that he didn’t care if he had to stay in here for the next hour, he’d rather be in his own room.

“Alright.” Grif dusted himself off, making himself pretty much invisible again. “Climb onto me, then.” Even though Simmons had literally  _ just _ said that Grif should tell him his plan, the maroon soldier was still caught off-guard as Grif seemed to turn around and get on a knee. Simmons had trouble voicing his next question:

“P-Piggy-back??? You.. want me to- Uh?” Grif just raised his arms in a - Simmons squinted to see his friend’s barely-visible hands. Oh. It was a thumbs up. The maroon soldier hopped closer to the bigger man. He knew Grif was strong (much stronger than everyone thought he was), but he also knew that his own robotic parts made him  _ very _ heavy.

“Grif. Are you sure,” Simmons began to say as he looped his arms around his friend’s broad shoulders. “I mean. You know I’m very-”

Simmons never got to finish his sentence, because Grif got up with a groan. He wrapped his arms around Simmons’ legs and all the maroon soldier did was gasping out different variations of the word ‘no’.

Grif hoisted his pale friend up, making sure both of them were comfortable. However, Grif was crazily aware of the fact that Simmons was completely pressed against him. It made the invisible soldier determined to just get this ‘ride’ over with and  _ fast _ .

Simmons was still making noise and Grif decided that Simmons should stop doing that. He walked towards the door and rested his hand on the doorknob.

“As soon as I open this door, you need to be quiet. Alright?”

The maroon soldier tensed up and protested: “What do you mean- I- It’s gonna be awk-”

“ _ Babe _ , just shut your pretty mouth and listen for people walking in the halls,” Grif interrupted.

Silence.

It began to dawn on Grif what he’d just said. ‘Oh  _ shit _ , did I just- oh fuck me,’ he thought. He pulled the door open with unnecessary speed -but closed it quietly- and walked into the hallway.

The way to Simmons’ room was pretty uneventful. Simmons was quiet and pretty much melting into Grif’s back, relaxed by the rhythmic bounce of his walk. He was also thinking about lots of things, like how every step removed a little dust, thus making Grif increasingly hard to see. Simmons also wondered how the light went right through his buddy, ignoring laws of physics. However, he could make out the faintest distortion where Grif was. As in, things looked a little wobbly through him. Simmons realized that he was  _ literally  _ looking through his friend and cringed at the thought.

He didn’t get a chance to panic, though, for the maroon soldier noticed the sound of  _ very _ heavy footsteps carrying through the hall. “Shit,” he hissed. “Grif! Someone’s coming, let- let me down! Down!” His hushed tone was accompanied by tapping Grif’s shoulder repeatedly.

Grif sighed before removing his arms from underneath Simmons’ thighs and his friend slipped off his back.

The maroon soldier landed on both feet and gasped in pain. His ankle. He exhaled shakily and lifted his foot off the floor, cursing at himself for forgetting his injury. His ankle (and a big part of his lower leg) was throbbing in pain, but the pale man schooled his expression and clenched his hands into tight fists.

But Grif grabbed Simmons’ hand, not quite _ holding _ it, because that was a little too... much, but he needed to let Simmons know that he was there for him. And he really didn’t want to scare the shit out of the poor guy (again).

“Grif! What are you-”

“I’m touching you so that you won’t forget that I’m here.” 

Simmons didn’t know whether to be offended at that or not. Of course he wouldn’t forget Grif! And it was super obvious that the Hawaiian man actually did it to support Simmons. For both his physical and mental discomfort. Simmons didn’t dwell on it, for Grif has always looked out for him. It was just that it was hidden underneath a thick layer of bullshit attitude.

The sound of heavy footsteps came steadily closer to their hallway and Simmons realized who it was before the person even turned the corner.

“Oh, great.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“Cinnamon!!!!!”

“Hey,” he began. He couldn’t finish his greeting because he was interrupted by the innocent and gigantic being that was... Caboose.

Simmons sighed and opened his eyes again. He waved awkwardly at the excitable man, having to look up to meet his eyes.

It would never cease to amaze the maroon soldier just how  _ tall _ this kid was. He always thought that Grif was tall, but Caboose took the fucking cake with both hands and practically inhaled it.

And it wasn’t just his length that intrigued Simmons, it was his build too. He could see the blue’s build clearly, for the he was wearing a (very) tight t-shirt with… a unicorn that somehow was a potato? And he also wore sweatpants that clung to his thighs. At first glance, Caboose looked like a kid, soft arms, legs and belly. But underneath that layer of (baby?) fat was a layer of hard - and well-trained - muscle. The guy was like a black bear, strong, intimidating and somehow still cuddly. 

“-and then Tucker said to me: ‘Caboose! You can’t bring Freckles to the dinnertable! Bring him back to your room!’ And now I’m here! Why are you two here?!”

“I’m not feeling well, so I’m not gonna eat dinner with - wait. _You_ _two?_ Caboose…” The maroon soldier glanced to the side, where Grif was sliding his hand into Simmons’. Blood rushed to his cheeks, but he let it all happen. ‘What the fuck is he doing?’ But then Grif squeezed his hand once, as if telling Simmons to go on and answer Caboose.

“Uh- Caboose. It’s only me here. Why’d you say ‘you two’ if it’s clearly just... you and me here?”

“AND FRECKLES,” Caboose stated loudly.

The pale man relaxed, but tensed up as soon as the blue soldier added something very confusing and mildly distressing: “AND GRIF.”

.:':. .:':. .:':.

Simmons was sprawled across the bed on his back like some kind of big cat, but he wasn’t asleep. Sleep was out of reach. One of the reasons: he had to keep his ankle on a pillow. Another reason: Grif’s loud snoring. The man sounded like a 30-year-old car trying to start up after having been in a garage for at  _ least _ a decade. Simmons tried to ignore it and sleep through it, but it was impossible.

‘Dammit! It’s unfair,’ Simmons thought to himself. He sat up a little and peeked out from the edge of the bed. He looked at the vague shape of his friend hidden underneath the thick blankets and frowned. ‘Why does he get to sleep, while I have to relive the shit I bottled up today?’

The maroon soldier picked at the seams of his sweatpants and groaned softly. Anxiety was clouding his mind and the room was waaay too dark for his liking. However, he knew that Grif liked to sleep in complete darkness (even though he dozed off wherever and whenever) so Simmons didn’t turn on any lights other than the small lava lamp on his nightstand. He laid down again and watched the lamp. He had other, much brighter, lights, but the pink floating blobs always calmed him down.

Of course, tonight seemed to be an exception. Simmons couldn’t focus on the slow movement of the bubbles and instead focused on the way his waist and back were still tingling from when Grif had grabbed him.

It had taken a lot of (unseen) effort from Simmons’ side to keep it to himself that he did  _ not _ like the invisible soldier touching him. It freaked him out and he only dealt with the touches because he couldn’t bear Grif surprising him AGAIN.

Simmons had to admit, though, that there was another reason for keeping his discomfort suppressed: guilt. He felt bad for his friend. Grif was already facing the fact that he was invisible. It was something Simmons did not want to experience himself and, after seeing - no,  _ hearing _ his friend’s panic, he felt pity for the man. But that wasn’t quite the source of his guilt.

Nope.

The guilt came from the fact that Grif had messed him up so badly.

And he knew that Grif knew.

“Fuck.” The harsh word left his lips in a sigh. The maroon soldier hid his face in the palms of his hands. 

Now that his eyes were closed, Simmons could truly feel how much his body was hurting. His sprained ankle, the raised scars where metal met his skin. Even his artificial nerves were on fire. In short,  _ everything  _ was aching and begging for a hot bath.

That was something Simmons liked about this place; they had actual baths. A pool (along with a jacuzzi) and three bathrooms. All three of them looked pretty much the same, equipped with a shower, a toilet, a sink and a floor-to-ceiling mirror. One of them, however, was set up with a deep bathtub. Donut kept (and maintained) a stockpile of candles (some with scents like cinnamon or flowers) and bath bombs in that bathroom. The more Simmons thought about it, the more he wanted to go there now.

Thinking about being able to relax like that, calmed him down already. His mind was drifting off to the comforts about bathing and after a short while his breathing evened out.

.:’:. .:’:. .:’:.

Consciousness came to Simmons gently. The room was quiet - apart from the always-present humming of the generators - and the room was dark when he opened his eyes. He stretched his arms, popped some joints and yawned loudly. Simmons then rolled over in bed -

He  _ wanted  _ to roll over in bed, but twisted his already hurt ankle (which he had completely forgotten about in his hazy post-sleep mind) and hissed as he returned to laying on his back. His foot had slipped off the pillow, so put it back and then reached for the bright lamp on his nightstand.

‘Wait,’ he thought suddenly. ‘Hadn’t I turned on the lava lamp? Why is it off now?’ He reached past the bright lamp and touched the glass of the lava lamp. Cold.

Immediately the silence of the room felt wrong. For a split second, he wondered why. Then he realized: Grif.

“Where’s Grif,” he said in a raspy voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simmons DEFINITELY got that lava lamp from Donut. _And_ decided to keep it. Just sayin'  
>  Hope y'all liked Caboose in here! I'll try to get the next chapter out a bit sooner, because with this chapter, I just kept re-reading it and deleting parts over and over again. Just to re-write it entirely... (•̀ϖ•́ )
> 
> Like I just said, I re-wrote a lot for this chapter. For the first quarter of this chapter, I had a whole other version written, one that's got much more... angst. I'll throw the link in here if you're curious to see what it looks like!  
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1SxJuR2uoMsY7kwR9eTu3GCuuWMMnyfPp4eUVX50YCq8/edit?usp=sharing
> 
> I love all of you and your kudos and comments keep me alive! Thanks for your support! ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡  
> Lots of love, Bee


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhh my god, i am SO sorry for the big delay. i've been busy with work to save for a trip, which i'm on, actually! i'm in japan now lmao!!!!!!
> 
> please don't think i'm willing to quit this story, i'm still working on it and thinking about it nearly every day, but i just had a hard time finding the time and energy to write, smh....

“Grif?”

Simmons pushed himself into a sitting position and looked past the foot end of bed, where Grif was supposed to be vast asleep. He couldn’t see shit, so the maroon soldier reached over and -finally- turned on the light on his night stand.

The blankets were folded neatly - as Grif always did with bedding and towels - and Simmons could see a crumpled up note lying next to it. Simmons’ curiosity spiked and he awkwardly turned in bed (as in, his feet were at his headrest now) to grab the note.

 

> _simmons_   
>  _im going_ _im at my own room bc i couldnt sleep_ _  
> _ _ttyl_  
>  ya humble boi

Simmons couldn’t help but chuckle at the note as he imagined Grif hastily writing this memo in near-darkness.

“What a dork,” he murmured to himself as he stared at the scrabbled letters. The longer he stared at the note, however, the more Simmons doubted that Grif wrote the truth. It worried him.

“Ugh,” he groaned, “I have to find him.”

The maroon soldier looked around the room for a crutch, but the faint light of the lava lamp revealed nothing that he could use to make walking easier. How unlucky. Simmons mapped out the route in his head. Grif’s room was… not that far from his own, actually. It was only two rooms away. He just had to walk out of his door and stumble past Lopez’ room to reach Grif’s. It could prove a challenge, though. He squinted his eyes at his black watch.

3:18 AM.

“Let’s go,” Simmons mumbled to himself. Only 7 hours and 42 minutes left until Donut would wake everyone up for his stupid ‘Sexy Saturday Brunch’.

Five minutes later, the maroon soldier was shuffling (hopping?) along the icy cold wall in the darkness of the hallway. It had taken him quite a lot of effort to get from his bed to the door without accidentally using his hurt foot. He also tripped and fell right into his own door, which had ruined his mood a lot. Simmons’ fingers moved onto the smooth surface of the wall-mounted door panel and it lit up at the touch. Releasing a sigh, he leaned heavily against the wall next to the glass screen. ‘Finally.’

So here he was, already drenched in sweat and wearing a frown on his face. His robotic eye pulsated slowly and glowed much softer than usual, due to his tiredness and sour mood. Sarge always makes jokes about Simmons being busy ‘scheming’ when his eye glows like that. The thought caused a faint smile to pull at the corners of his lips.

Simmons pulled himself back together and pushed himself off the wall a little to face the panel. He grimaced at the crack in the screen - now was not the best time to lecture Grif about being careful with their electronic equipment, _especially_ if it was overseen by an AI.

His fingers hovered in front of the panel. Simmons was arguing with himself whether to knock or not. He usually did so to give Grif time to respond and/or get decent. However, current Grif was invisible, so it wouldn’t make a difference whether he was decently dressed or not. Simmons wouldn’t be able to see it anyways. Which made knocking unnecessary.

Having decided on not-knocking, the maroon soldier shifted against the wall and tapped the lock icon on the bottom of the screen. The screen changed to a numeric keypad and a single word:

_PASSWORD_

The maroon didn’t have to think about whatever the password could be. He had the same password as his friend, after all. It had been the most logical thing to do: they could check up on each other (Simmons’ reason) and enter each other’s room without the other person having to get up (Grif’s reason).

All four beeps sounded exactly the same as Simmons entered the 4-digit code: 0 5 1 6.

The panel went green and the door slid open with a soft hiss. The pale man couldn’t help but look around into the hallway - not that he’d be able to see anything - but everyone was vast asleep. Even the AI was in stand-by mode, otherwise they’d have asked Simmons what he was going to Grif for. Sheila was curious like that.

‘It’s interesting and kind of… cute, sometimes, but it’s pretty bothersome if you’re in a hurry. Or if you’re doing something you don’t want others to know,’ the pale man thought to himself as he slipped inside the room. ‘Anyways. I’m getting side-tracked here.’

All the lights were off.

The silence was deafening and Simmons hesitated to break it. “Grif,” he whispered cautiously. There was no answer, so he moved his hand to the panel beside the door and let the door close. Then, he pressed his finger on the button for the lights and they turned on with a faint clicking noise.

“Grif,” Simmons tried again. The only sound in the room came from the shut laptop on the desk. The poor thing was so full of viruses that even when on stand-by, it made noise, trying its best to stay alive. The chair was pushed against the desk and Grif’s bed was still made. At least, as ‘made’ as it could be with his laziness. He couldn’t smell any food, either and a quick scan of the room didn’t show any opened packs of Oreos. This alone could have been enough to answer Simmons’ question. Grif hadn’t been in this room. At least, not today.

“How the fuck am I going to find an invisible guy…” Simmons shook his head and sighed. He turned on his foot and used the door panel once more to open the door and dim the lights. “Where to now,” the maroon soldier murmured to himself.

The kitchen was the next logical place to look. The recreation room was too far away and Simmons doubted that Grif would want to hang out in the storage rooms after their rough meeting earlier. He hopped out of Grif’s room and leaned against the wall in the corridor. The kitchen and living room were right across Tucker’s room. Which was three rooms away. Simmons let out another sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. He was sceptic of curses and ghosts, but it really felt like some curse had befell Grif and him.

The maroon soldier knew better than to use his hurt foot, but getting to the kitchen would take such a long time…! Simmons swore to himself that he’d sleep in the living room if Grif wasn’t in there. He was _not_ going to hop back to his room. He had to be there for Donut’s stupid brunch in less than 8 hours anyways.

.:’:. .:’:. .:’:.

According to his watch, it had taken him ten minutes to get to the kitchen. He wanted to yell out in frustration, but waking up the rest of the base would make this _pure hell_.

Simmons peered through the frosted glass of the kitchen door, but he couldn’t see anything. A light was on, though. Simmons mentally prepared for the fact that it might not be Grif in here. And that meant that he wouldn’t be able to find his friend until _he_ decided that he wanted to be found.

“Please let it be Grif,” he whispered, punching the ‘OPEN DOOR’ button, “I don’t want to deal with anyone but him at the moment, so please, please-”

The glass door to the kitchen slid open with a sigh.

Silence. The maroon soldier entered the room clumsily and looked around. He was alone. Well, he couldn’t _see_ anyone else.

“Grif?” Simmons pressed the button for the door again and the door closed with just as little noise as before. “Grif, please,” he then nearly-pleaded. Simmons’ eyes were tired and heavy and he had a lot of trouble trying to find the disturbance in the air that meant he was looking at (and through) Grif. But at least he knew what he was looking for.

And then there it was. On the couch. The light was a little warped in that certain spot. The edges of the couch didn’t really line up either. ‘Gotcha!’ Simmons thought. Yet, he made his way to Grif with care. The other man didn’t speak up or move from his spot.

Simmons kept his eyes on where Grif was seated (the cushions were flattened a little under the Hawaiian’s weight) and made sure to drop himself right next to him. A sigh came from Simmons’ left and as he turned his neck towards the invisible soldier, he heard Grif shuffle around and suddenly Simmons’ arms were pulled away from his lap and a weight settled down on his thighs.

“Grif!” The maroon soldier hissed his friend’s name in distress. “What are you doing?!”

“I‘m tired,” came from his lap. Simmons raised his eyebrows. Had Grif put his head on his lap? He quietly and carefully moved his hands towards the weight on his lap and- his fingers landed on Grif’s warm cheek and thick hair. Simmons stared ahead, sighing. He blamed his tiredness for accepting this outside their own rooms. Nobody would be able to see Grif, anyways.

“Grif,” Simmons started quietly as his fingers gently combed through his friend’s hair, “it’s almost 4AM on a saturday. Which means that we have Donut’s stupid brunch in 7 hours.”

“We could just, _not_ go, y’know? The only reason we go at all is because of the food,” Grif replied, clearly annoyed.

Simmons rolled his eyes at Grif’s childish behaviour (even though he was _absolutely_ right). “You know how hard it is to say ‘no’ to Donut! Well- it’s not hard, but he doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Not for his,” he started laughing quietly as he finished, “Sexy Saturday Brunch~”

Grif took Simmons’ hands from his hair and rolled around. The maroon soldier assumed that he’d rolled onto his back, because Grif’s long hair was now draped over his thighs and over the couch.

“He really doesn’t have to wear that pink dress.” Grif groaned as the image came to him. Simmons laughed softly and looked at his fingers combing invisible locks.

“I’m tired,” Simmons said as he took his hands from his friend’s hair. He ignored Grif’s undignified whine and continued: “Let’s go back to bed, Grif.”

There was a long silence and it began to dawn upon Simmons what he’d just said. Blood rushed to his cheeks, turning his face bright red, and he sputtered out excuses: “Uh- I didn’t mean! Grif! I just meant- sleep together!” Simmons raised his hands in frustration as he fucked it up _again_. “Not, not like that! Grif!” The maroon soldier frowned and slapped his invisible friend on the chest repeatedly. “Stop laughing!!!”

.:’:. .:’:. .:’:.

It was a lot easier to go back to Simmons’ room now that the men didn’t have to be on the lookout for others any longer. They were vast asleep anyways. Simmons was becoming increasingly drowsy as Grif was carrying him on his back again and the maroon soldier quietly damned the way back for being so short.

They didn’t speak until they were back in the maroon soldier’s room and even then, they didn’t share many words. After Simmons had gotten off of Grif’s back, he told the Hawaiian: “Sleep in my bed, because I feel bad letting you sleep on the floor.”

The pale man didn’t miss his friend’s stammered ‘thank you’ as he was making himself comfortable on the big sofa in the corner of his room. Simmons pulled the thick plaid up around his shoulders and head, making himself a long blanket-burrito on the chair. He focused on Grif’s very vague figure as the invisible man made his way towards the door panel to turn off all the lights and settled for a short and uncomfortable night.

 

And it turned out to be exactly all of that, except that it was not. Because after turning around in the sofa for the _fifth_ time, Simmons decided that this damn chair would do fuckall for his tiredness and the crick in his neck.

He made his way over to his bed, dragging the heavy plaid with him and gracelessly tumbled onto the heavenly soft mattress. He then pulled the blanket up around himself before rolling over to Grif’s… ‘side’ underneath the comforter. Simmons was pretty cold and he wanted to get comfortable underneath both layers before the bigger man started hogging the bedding again. ‘He _always_ hogs the blankets,’ he thought grimly.

Grif snorted as Simmons’ ice cold legs, of which the metal one was probably 10 times colder, made contact with his own, but other than that, he didn’t move away. He knew Simmons always got cold. The maroon soldier slept like the dead, not at all hearing Grif’s snoring.

.:’:. .:’:. .:’:.

Simmons opened his eyes, blinking repeatedly at the sunlight streaming through the windows. Why had he woken up? Better yet, _what_ had woken him up? He was thinking about… nothing at all, actually. His head was empty as he wasn’t fully awake yet. Then he heard snoring and noticed the pressure against his back. There was an arm on his waist, too. It didn’t take the maroon soldier long to recognize the snoring and everything came back to him. Simmons sighed annoyedly, ready to elbow Grif in the stomach for waking him with his loud snoring.

‘Wait, but I always sleep through his snoring until, like, noon,’ Simmons thought slowly. And only after thinking that, he heard the knocks on the door, accompanied by the _one_ voice Simmons didn’t want to hear when just awake.

“Guys!!!! Are you awake yet?! I don’t want to come in and bother you…! But it’s _IMPORTANT_ , the Sexy Saturday Brunch!!!” The knocking turned into pounding and Simmons felt Grif shift behind him. “Guys,” Donut yelled between knocks. “You better be ready in 10 minutes! I’ll send Caboose to pick the two of you up~!”

“UGH, fine,” Simmons groaned and raised his voice. “I’m awake, Donut!” As he rubbed his eyes, a lazy yawn left his lips. “Okey dokey,” The pink soldier yelled cheerfully. He could hear Donut skipping down the hall and the tension melted away. Simmons gently nudged Grif’s form with his elbow. The pale man couldn’t really slip out of bed, for his friend’s arm had grown heavier on his waist with each passing minute, effectively trapping Simmons in bed. It was cozy, though, so he didn’t _really_ mind.

“Grif.”

A sigh.

“Wake up,” he added.

Now Grif let out an annoyed groan. At the same time, the arm around Simmons’ waist tightened and pulled him flush against the Hawaiian.

“Let’s go back to sleep, Simmons,” Grif murmured sleepily in his ear. A tremor ran through his body at how close Grif was to him. The bigger man was all around Simmons and it was almost too much. Blood rushed to his face and panic (among other feelings) flared up in him.

“Grif!” Simmons squeaked, accompanied by elbowing him again - but rougher this time.

“Ow!” Grif sounded surprised and immediately let go of the pale man in response. Simmons used this opportunity to roll back to his own side of the bed. He immediately looked at Grif’s form underneath the blankets as the invisible soldier stretched - Simmons could tell by the muffled groaning and popping joints.

“That really hurt, _Dick_ ,” Grif complained sourly after he finished stretching.

A grin pulled at the corner of Simmons’ mouth as he was overcome with a sudden boldness. “You’re just the worst big spoon, Grif. Deal with it.”

Grif’s sputtered ‘fuck off’ made the pale man laugh. God, what Simmons wouldn’t pay to see his face right now.

The mood was light, even though neither of them were morning persons. Grif insisted on coming with Simmons, even though Simmons told him repeatedly that it wasn’t a good idea. Grif then told the maroon soldier that ‘this shitstorm is as awful as it is and he needs the idiots to distract himself from his misery.’ The Hawaiian received a raised eyebrow in response, but other than that Simmons didn’t react. They went back to joking and talking shit about Donut.

 

“Five bucks that they’re fucking,” Grif suddenly said as Simmons was in the middle of putting on his pants. The pale man choked on air and almost fell sideways as he lost his balance.

“What?! Who!?” Simmons yelled, taken aback by the sudden comment.

“Tucker and Wash, dumbass. Who else?”

“I don’t know,” Simmons said defensively, tips of his ears bright red. “We were just talking about Donut’s ridiculous dress, you can’t just switch subject like that!”

“Whatever,” Grif said nonchalantly. “But what do you think? They getting it on or nah?”

Simmons thought about it as he pulled his pants up over his butt. “Definitely. But who took the first step? I bet Tucker took the first step.”

Grif laughed loudly. “You really think Tucker did it? Nah dude, he always talks game but he’s chicken. I bet it’s Wash, having lost his patience and just _going for it_.”

Simmons shrugged. “I stand by Tucker. What’re we betting on?”

“If I win, I get all your Oreos for the next three months. And that family-sized bag of Glorias you hid in your room.” Grif laughed, no doubt having seen his friend’s horrified look. “Yeah, I found them. Dutch-Irish, my fat ass. Anyways. If you win, I’ll get you… that book you wanted so badly. ‘Spanish for Dummies’, right?”

.:’:. .:’:. .:’:.

Grif had helped Simmons get to the living room, allowing the redhead to lean heavily on him. They were five minutes late, so no one was in the hallways. Nobody dared show up late Donut’s brunch. The pink armoured soldier was like a pubescent puppy most of the times, happy, energetic and horny as fuck. But whenever something did not please Donut, his personality was eerily similar to Cronut’s; sadistic, deceitful and _horny as fuck_.

It was scary enough to see his character shift like that, let alone be the source of that change. Simmons had shivered when the realization hit him that he’d be the cause this time.

Grif didn’t say anything during the whole trip to the kitchen, but neither did Simmons. He was afraid that the others would be able to hear either one of them and he figured Grif kept his mouth shut for the same reason. ‘Or he’s just too lazy to talk,’ Simmons thought. The silence did not make the trip easier, nor did it make the trip shorter. It just gave the maroon soldier more time with his thoughts.

As they were nearing the kitchen, Grif shifted so that Simmons would still be able to rely on him for support, but not make it obvious _that something was there_. However, this change in position brought Grif’s hand on Simmons’ lower back. The pale man felt his face heat up in shame and discomfort and stiffened, which the Hawaiian noticed. He pulled his hand away immediately, as if touching boiling water. “Shit,” Grif whispered near Simmons’ ear, “does that make you uncomfort- of course it does, shit, sorry....” Grif tapped his friend’s shoulder and subsequently placed his hand between Simmons’ shoulder blades.

“Is this better?” the Hawaiian whispered again.

Simmons just wanted to yell that he didn’t really care about that anymore, but that Grif needed to stop whispering in his ear. It was weird to feel an invisible person’s breath on your face, but still not being able to see _how close_ he actually was. It confused his sense of personal space.

But the maroon soldier locked his lips shut and nodded, not showing anything of the thoughts he was having. Grif let out a sigh and relaxed. He gave a little push to encourage Simmons to continue walking, which he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any idea what the 4-digit access code for their rooms stands for? :)
> 
> By the _way_. I made a rough layout of the base (excuse its squareness, I _know_ it's not very base-ish). I'll edit my chapters slightly just so that they don't go all the way against it. I like to think in images and map out everything, so a layout of the base is actually pretty damn important. lol  
>  https://imgur.com/p5IzJ49 (they chose the icons & names themselves lmaooo)
> 
> Oh and this is Donut's apron/dress: https://i.pinimg.com/236x/0c/de/d5/0cded511b7f4f596db57dcb13f09b59.jpg


End file.
